


Rite of Replication

by AngelDustApocalypse



Category: Magic: The Gathering
Genre: Bittersweet, Drunken Illusion Magic, I'm Bad At Summaries, I'm Bad At Tagging, Jace misuses his illusion magic, M/M, Masturbation, Sad Porn, an incredible amount of Agents of Artifice referencing, does it count as a pairing if one of them is an illusion
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-14
Updated: 2017-12-14
Packaged: 2019-02-14 22:00:20
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,730
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13017015
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AngelDustApocalypse/pseuds/AngelDustApocalypse
Summary: Jace Beleren spends a late night drinking and remembering Kallist, which culminates in spending some time with an illusion.





	Rite of Replication

**Author's Note:**

> I haven't written fic in probably years, so enjoy!

It was long past sundown , but Jace Beleren was still awake. Not like he could really tell, though; the bedchamber had no windows, so the only way to tell was a complex timepiece hanging over a fireplace. And him being up to odd hours of the night was normal, anyway. 

A few stacks of paperwork were piled on a bedside table, things he had been sent home with by Lavinia to look over in his spare time, but they’d been untouched . The young mind-mage was more interested i n the bottle of wine set on the little coffee table, his body sprawled out on the plush sofa next to it. He wasn’t in the mood for paperwork. His sky blue gaze hadn’t left the sword mounted just under the clock in fifteen minutes now , as if he expected it move.  He really wished it would.

A flick of his wrist telekinetically brought the bottle to his hand, eyes not leaving the wall. He didn’t bother looking for the glass he’d long since dropped, which had probably rolled under the table by now, and took a long swig directly from the bottle. He shuddered, and finally tore his gaze away, exhaling deeply out his nose. 

_ Why do I keep doing this to myself?  _ He thought to nobody but himself.

He turned the bottle around in his hands a little, both hands ungloved for once and standing out moon-pale against the green glass. It was mostly empty now, having drained most of it over the course of the night. This wasn’t like him, not anymore; he’d abandoned this habit when he freed himself from the Consortium, he had thought. But every so often, it creeped back up on him. He set the bottle down again - with his hands this time - and turned so he was sitting up instead of laying down.

He stretched his limbs, which felt heavy and a little tingly at the tips, but didn’t stand up quite yet. He felt like he was suspended in a fog that was suppressing his darker thoughts, and even if he didn’t enjoy having his faculties impaired, it was welcome for now. 

It didn’t keep them away entirely, though . His mind wandered  to the reason for his dour mood, and he slumped back against the sofa once more, eyes flicking to the sword on the wall for a moment. Kallist.

This was the day - best he could tell - that his friend, his best friend, had died, all because of him. It would have been bad enough to merely witness, but he had been wearing Kallist’s body when his life was stolen. He still couldn’t find the words to describe the pain of the loss, of being torn from the dying body he had been inhabiting and shoved back into his own with the knowledge that Kallist was dead. It had been worse than anything he had experienced, worse than the razor edge of the manablade on his skin, than his mind being peeled away by the dragon, than almost unravelling under the strain of maintaining the peace.

He sighed and stared at the ceiling for a moment, guiding his thoughts away from those painful memori es.  The room was quite warm, he realised, despite having abandoned his cloak and gloves and boots long ago. The breastplate was uncomfortable anyway, and he managed to coax his leaden hands into unclipping the buckles and belts holding it on, discarding the hardened leather on the floor. Slightly better.

A slightly cheeky thought flitted through his mind, which he caught like a bright, squirming fish. Something to keep his mind off things, something to help him relax. He laughed slightly, to himself, blurry mind deciding it was a good idea as any. His tunic was the next to go, tossed to the floor in a heap of blue fabric, and leaving the young telepath slumped against the leather sofa in little more than his trousers. He took a second to trace the myriad marks dotting his skin, uncovered so rarely it was almost like someone else’s body. 

_ For a while, it was. _ The thought wandered unbidden to the forefront, and he roughly shoved it away. No, not now.

He trailed his fingers over the lines of the arcane tattoos crossing his body to distract himself, thick white tracks that covered almost every part of his body in some way. Shoulders, arms, chest, stomach, hips, and lower still. The most distinctive marker of who he was. Another unwanted thought flickered through his mind;  _ how did Kallist feel when he had these? Did he wonder where they came from? _

He pushed that away too. _ Stop _ , he begged himself silently, letting his eyes slide shut. He tugged his trousers away roughly to distract himself, finally sitting bare on his sofa. He didn’t often spend time naked, not unless he needed to bathe or change his clothes, so it was a little odd, which was a decent distraction.

He let his hands  wander down his front a little, tracing the fingers of his right hand - scarred hand,  _ did Kallist wear these with pride or shame those six months? _ \- along the skin. He gave up trying to fight the thoughts at this point, some part of him finding comfort in the memories of his friend, of the times they spent together.  _ Focus on the good times, not his death _ , that part whispered to him. That’s the soundest bit of advice he’d given himself in who knew how long.

Bringing his attention back to the physical, he noticed he was half-hard already.  _ Must have been the wine _ , he mused, lazily pawing at his shaft. It had been a long time since he did this, all by himself. But it was his body, so he knew exactly where he liked being touched - base of the shaft, the creases where his thighs met his body, hipbones - and he quickly brought himself to full attention. He gazed hazily down at his own body, blurry blue eyes taking in the sight of his cock, flushed obscenely and resting heavily against his maybe slightly-pudgy stomach, deciding this had been a good idea. He felt better already.

_ Focus on the good times _ , something in his mind echoed. Hmm.

Another thought flowed into his mind like the wine from the bottle, silky and maybe slightly bitter. He shouldn’t, but… 

But, nothing. He missed Kallist more than anything. And he still remembered every detail, every edge and curve of his body, every inch of skin. He’d erased many of his own thoughts, but he never erased him. He couldn’t.

It was easy to conjure the illusion, forming it from blue mana and air into shape and form and function. He had a lot to work with, both from his memory and the knowledge that the other man had looked incredibly similar to himself. A bit larger, a bit stronger, yes, but very similar. He watched with glowing blue eyes as the magic took shape, outlining a stubbled jaw, strong arms, broad chest. Just like he remembered from those few and fleeting moments they’d been  _ together _ , before everything went wrong. The smoke of the illusion solidified, and filled with colour; skin a shade darker than his own, hair slightly more chestnut, eyes more stormy.

It looked perfect, the exact form of Kallist Rhoka kneeling between his slightly-spread legs, bare as he was. Jace couldn’t stop the tears from welling up in the corners of his eyes, threatening to fall. The illusion of Kallist smiled, that genuine and friendly smile that was slightly crooked, that always reached his eyes when he had looked at Jace.

He knew his skill with illusion magic was such that he could create lifelike replicas, but that usually relied on the...victim, for lack of a better term, not being aware it was fake. He wondered if he could trick his mind into believing this was Kallist, the real Kallist. In theory, it was easy; tug on the right strings of his own mind, so he could feel and taste and smell the illusionary man before him. Add a bit more mana to give it a bit more form, make it -  _ him  _ \- able to touch him. Having him speak and move was easy; his illusions tended to have some degree of control over themselves that baffled even him sometimes.

He tilted his head to the side and the illusion mimicked him, leaving the slightest of blue afterimages when he moved. He wet his lips, and Kallist did as well. It took Jace a few seconds to realise that he had given over enough of the man’s mannerisms with his magic that it had been playing a  _ game  _ with him. It was one Kallist had done often, copying his movements in an uncannily precise way to tease the young telepath. He laughed, a little, and smiled at the illusion of Kallist. This had been a good idea.

He took a deep breath, turning his attention back to the throbbing between his legs. Right, he had been doing something. He wrapped his hand around his aching shaft, then gasped when he felt Kallist’s hand mimic this motion too. The illusion had its hand around Jace’s now, stormy blue eyes looking back at him. 

The young telepath swallowed and began moving his hand, slowly at first, but picking up speed gradually. He could feel Kallist’s touches as ghostly wisps of sensation, cool against his flushed skin as those sword-roughed fingers travelled along his cock, his thighs, down to cup his balls gently. He gasped, a little surprised he still remembered exactly how the other man’s hands had felt, but he was grateful for that tidbit of memory. They were rare and precious things, his memories, especially the good ones.

“Kallist…” He felt himself groan out, and the illusionary man before him looked up a little, tilting his head once more. 

Then that crooked little smile was back, the other man playfully squeezing his hand gently before dipping his scruffy head down to kiss the tip of Jace’s aching cock, making the telepath squirm and gasp. The illusion didn't have the same warmth as a flesh and blood person, but he didn’t care. Even just this was amazing, the gentle attention of someone he loved more than he could remember loving anyone before. Nevermind that it wasn’t real, that his friend had died long ago and he was now pleasuring himself to the illusion of a dead man.

_ No, stop that.  _ The intrusive thoughts had returned, and he wasn’t in the mood for them. He shoved them roughly aside, focusing on the man before him.

Kallist had started shifting a little, climbing up onto the sofa with Jace now. He ignored that his knees didn’t dent the leather at all, that he didn’t make any noise when touching the back of the sofa, that didn’t matter. What did matter was the swordsman leaning down to kiss him sweetly on the mouth, his hand back at Jace’s cock. The young telepath groaned against his illusionary partner, bucking his hips into the other’s hand, his own gripping the leather sofa under him, now.

He wanted so badly to touch the man arched above him, but he was scared the illusion would disperse if he did, its fragile form made only of magic and desire around a shell of air. He wanted to hold Kallist, to kiss him and stroke his hair and tell him how much he loved him, something he never got much of a chance to do when he was alive. He wanted him back so badly it made his chest ache and wetness gather in the corners of his eyes, stinging and blurring his vision as he surrendered to the kisses of an illusion of his own making.

“Jace..?”

The voice startled him out of his melancholy reverie, sky blue eyes focusing on the face inches from his own. He had forgotten that his illusions could speak, especially when one used a voice he hadn’t heard outside his own head in years.

“Yes…?”

“I love you.”

Those three tiny words were like a shock to his system, and he ignored the thought that it was only saying what he wanted to hear, under his control entirely like some kind of doll with a recordable voice box. His felt the tears that had been building fall free, and Kallist brushed them away, or at least made all the motions to; they still dripped down Jace’s cheeks and chin, hot and shameful.

“I love you too,” he said to a room that was, in reality, empty aside from himself.

Kallist’s hands were back on him near immediately, one stroking over his shaft slowly and lovingly while the other pressed gently on Jace’s inner thigh, prompting him to part his legs more. Jace briefly pondered how this would work, since the illusion was touching-but-not-touching him, the sensation of feeling tricks of the mind and not physical actions. He’d just have to… help, he supposed. Good thing his hands were free.

He snaked one shaking hand down his front as Kallist made the motions to prepare to penetrate him, lining up the tip of his cock with Jace’s entrance. Jace mimicked the illusion’s actions with his fingers, making faint needy noises at the strange, double sensation. He matched the movement of Kallist’s hips forward with pressing two fingers into himself, grunting a little as he was stretched, something that hadn’t happened in a long time.

“Is that good?” Came Kallist’s voice from somewhere next to his ear -  _ when did I close my eyes? _ \- and he nodded his reply.

It was unusual, feeling Kallist’s hips smacking against him but not feeling his cock inside him; his fingers had to take care of that, hunting for that little pleasure-spot lurking inside him. It was easy enough to locate, familiar enough with his own body and his need to know where to touch, and rubbing his fingertip against that spot made white spots dance in his vision, his head tilt back. 

Kallist’s hand was still working his cock all through it, his voice still in Jace’s ear as he grunted and swore, a perfect vocal replica of the man in life. He was getting close now, the telltale signs all there; the tension building in his gut with every stroke of his aching cock, his balls starting to draw up with every impact against his spot. His eyes were glowing a bright blue, he was sure, reflexively reaching for another mind to grab hold of, hunting fruitlessly for Kallist’s rock-steady thoughts, so sure of who he was, an island in a stormy sea…

But there was nothing there. Only seafoam and air as he groped desprately in the throes of his orgasm for something that wasn’t there, that hadn’t been there for years. 

The illusion popped like a soap bubble as he came up his own front, thick ropes of pearly white spattering his pale chest at the same time he choked back a sob. Kallist was gone, and now the illusion of Kallist was gone too, leaving Jace alone in the wake of his shameful climax, draped over the leather sofa.

It was several long minutes before he could move again, staring vacantly at the ceiling. He managed to drag himself to the adjoining bathroom, limbs still heavy with wine and post-climax haze, his bare feet making faint papping sounds on the smooth tile. He climbed quietly into the in-floor tub, but didn’t turn the water on, in a thick fog of his conflicted emotions.

His gaze eventually fell on his right arm, on the thin, ruler-straight white scars running up it. He flexed his hand, and the tendon and muscle under his skin shifted slightly, but the scar remained.

He wondered why he hadn’t wiped his memories of the Consortium, of his torture at the hands of Tezzeret and Baltrice, of all the horrors he witnessed - and perpetrated. But he knew why.

Because with those dark memories came the brightest light in his life, his best friend, his brother in arms, the person he cared about more than anything. And that alone was worth the pain of those three years. He would keep the memory of Kallist Rhoka alive, right next to his Spark. He might be the only person left in the multiverse who would.


End file.
